[ A clenched little pause, like a held breath. ] It matters. Sometimes, sometimes there's real and there's true. [ He listens a while after that, to the bundle of wires and plastic clamped in his hand. Knowing he's talking like a junkie.
But eventually he dredges up the poem, links numbers to letters. Sends back: ] s e
no subject
But eventually he dredges up the poem, links numbers to letters. Sends back: ] s e